


fire and water

by ikeracity



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-17 00:22:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13065252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikeracity/pseuds/ikeracity
Summary: Prince Charles saves a dragon from drowning and changes the course of his future forever.





	fire and water

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [Lamia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lamia/pseuds/Lamia) in the [secret_mutant_madness_2017](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/secret_mutant_madness_2017) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Charles is a young prince with a heart full of adventures but he is being married off to a prince of another land who hardly cares about Charles. 
> 
> Erik is a fearsome Dragon King who's being hunted by Charles' soon-to-be husband. One day, fate brings the Dragon King and the young prince together and they begin a plan...
> 
> *************
> 
> Lamia, I hope you enjoy this! I so wish I had the time to write the 50k epic this prompt deserves. Alas! I hope this will suffice.

There was a tremendous splash when the creature fell. Charles, who had been dozing under the shade of a nearby tree, sat bolt upright at the sound, eyes wide. Water rippled outwards from the point of impact, and the ducks that had been floating by the shore took off in alarm, honking belligerently. Slowly, Charles stood up, gaze fixed on the water.

A hand broke the surface of the lake, flailed, sank again.

It was a man, or a woman. A _person_.

Without thinking, Charles kicked off his boots and ran to the end of the dock that jutted out over the water. He gauged the distance between himself and where the hand had come up and, hesitating only a second, flung himself off the deck.   

The water was colder than he’d expected. It hit him like a physical force, and he lost some air to a breathless yell. Clamping his mouth shut, he spun in the murkiness, squinting hard. Nothing.

Closing his eyes, he pushed out his mind, seeking anything his power would grip onto. And— _there_ —there was—not a mind, really, but it was _something_ in the darkness to his left. Something alive and angry. 

Opening his eyes again, he kicked in that direction, ignoring the burning in his lungs. His heart pounding frantically in his ears, he swam with arms outstretched, searching, and felt his hand brush against cloth.

A cloak. He seized it with both hands and pulled. To his relief, the weight on the other end wasn’t nearly as substantial as he’d feared. Kicking hard, he swam for the blurry sky above them, swam until his lungs felt as if they’d burst if he couldn’t get air in the next second.

He broke through the surface with a strangled yell, gasping desperately for breath. Black spots danced across his vision, and for a moment, it was all he could do to just gulp in air and stay afloat.

Something grabbed his leg. He screamed, startled, but somehow didn’t lose his grip on the cloak, which was starting to move. Whoever he’d saved was moving, conscious. Charles reached out with his mind to calm them, but the stranger’s mind was curiously difficult to grab onto. It felt like his power slipped off like water off a tarp.

He pulled the cape as hard as he could, hauling the stranger to the surface. Hands grabbed his shirt, almost pulling him beneath the water again, and then a head broke the surface beside him.

It was a man. It was a man with great, wicked-looking horns curving up from his head. His storm-gray eyes flashed, his pupils huge. He bared his teeth at Charles and lunged.

“Wait!” Charles shouted, throwing both hands up to protect himself. “Wait!”

The creature grabbed onto him, his sharp nails—his _claws?—_ sinking into Charles’s upraised forearm. Charles screamed, kicked out, and felt his foot connect. The blow shouldn’t have been enough to really hurt, but the creature let out a harsh cry and released him, flailing back under the water.

_Don’t,_ he told himself. _It just tried to kill you, don’t go after it, don’t be stupid._

But it didn’t come back up. Some part of it had seemed sentient. Charles couldn’t let it drown.

Taking a huge breath, he dove again. The creature hadn’t sunk far. It thrashed weakly, clearly trying to fight for the surface. When it twisted, Charles saw why his kick had hurt the creature so badly: there was an arrow sticking out of its side, spilling dark, inky blood out into the water.

Charles pushed his mind as insistently as he could against the creature’s strange mind. _I’m trying to help you. Don’t hurt me._

Miraculously, it seemed to understand him. Going still, it watched him warily, eyes narrowed. The water lifted its cloak, tugged it to the side, and Charles saw wings. Great, hooked, leathery _wings_.

The word shot through his mind like fire: _dragon_.

Instinctively, he kicked back, putting distance between himself and the creature. His heart raced furiously, and every impulse told him to _swim_ , idiot, swim for the surface, swim away, this was a dragon, this was the enemy.

And yet, he knew it would die if he didn’t help. It was too weak to pull itself to shore. It would drown.

Enemy or not, he couldn’t allow that to happen.

Burying his misgivings, he swam for the dragon and grabbed its arm. Part of him expected the creature to lash out at him again, to tear out his throat and send them both to a watery grave. But instead, it just clung onto him, perhaps sensing his good intentions. Charles turned and kicked his way to the surface for the second time.

It was a struggle to get the dragon to shore, but he managed it, barely. By the time he’d pulled the creature up into the reeds, it was nearly unconscious again. Charles wanted badly to just collapse onto his back and spend a few minutes just catching his breath, but the dragon seemed in dire straits. Kneeling beside it, Charles examined the arrow in its side. The shaft was nearly as thick as his wrist, and up close it seemed more like a lance than an arrow, except that it had fletching at the end of it. Charles had no idea how the dragon had survived a blow like this. The arrow looked devastating enough to have completely destroyed the dragon’s internal organs.

Had he saved it only to watch it die? Was there no hope?

The dragon’s eyes opened again. “You…” it rasped. It had a man’s voice, deep and rough.

Charles stared down at it. “What can I do? This wound—it’s bad.”

The dragon fixed its pale eyes on Charles’s face. There was confusion in its gaze underneath the hostile mistrust. “You…you don’t mean to kill me?”

“ _Kill you?”_ Charles echoed, appalled. “No, I’ve never killed a creature in my life.” He hovered his hand over the arrow shaft, wondering if it would be better to pull it out or leave it in. “Besides, if I’d wanted you to die, I would have let you drown.”

“But…you can see what I am.”

“A dragon?”

“That doesn’t frighten you?”

“It terrifies me,” Charles told him honestly, “but you’re about to die if we don’t do something about this arrow so you had better tell me what I can do. Should I fetch a physician? The castle’s just up the hill, I could get help—”

“ _No_.” The dragon’s hand shot out, grabbing Charles’s wrist. “If you bring others, they’ll kill me, and you know it.”

He was right. The city guard had standing orders to kill dragons on sight.

“All right. What can I do then?”

“Pull it out.”

Charles stared down at the arrow. “Should I? What if it causes more damage coming out? We haven’t got anything to staunch the wound, you’ll bleed to death—”

“Do it,” the dragon gritted out. “It’s poisoned—I can feel it working through my system. Leave it in, and it’ll kill me.”

“But—”

“ _Do it_ ,” the dragon grated out harshly.

Charles hesitated another second, then got up and scrambled over to where he’d been napping under the tree. Grabbing the blanket he’d been lying on, he hurried back, dropping to his knees. “Okay. I’ve never done anything like this before. I’m not sure—I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It’ll hurt,” the dragon growled. “Just do it fast.”

“Okay.” Charles’s heart hammered against his ribs. His fingers felt numb with fear and adrenaline. Gripping the arrow shaft with both hands, he braced himself, took a deep, steadying breath, and pulled as hard as he could.

The dragon shouted in pain. The sound the arrowhead made as it tore free of the creature’s flesh nearly made Charles retch. Blood began to spill from the wound instantly, thick and dark. Throwing the arrow aside, Charles wadded up the blanket and pressed it against the injury, whispering an apology when the dragon groaned.

After a moment, the creature went limp. Horrified, Charles leaned over him, checking for signs of life. He was breathing, Charles saw with a rush of relief. Only unconscious.

After a few minutes, the dragon’s wound started to bleed more slowly. The blanket was utterly soaked through, but it seemed to have done the job. Charles dragged the dragon’s cloak out from underneath him, unclasped it from his shoulders, and, with much clumsy maneuvering, managed to get it wrapped tightly around his waist, covering the wound.

That would have to be enough for now. He didn’t have any other supplies.

Dusk had begun to set in. Charles shivered as a breeze swept up over the lake. He couldn’t leave the dragon here. He might be found and killed. But sneaking him back into the castle would be risky. Too risky.

Did he have another choice though? As terrifying as it seemed, it was the safest option. If he left the dragon anywhere else, anyone could happen upon him. At least Charles controlled who entered his chambers, and when.

He knew a back way in that would avoid all the main hallways. They could disguise the dragon’s wings and horns with a cloak and a hood. That way, even if they _were_ spotted, he’d only look like a man. A slightly misshapen, oddly hunched man.

Decision made, Charles pulled the dragon a little further out of the water. He woke as Charles was arranging him underneath a pile of reeds and lifted his lip in a suspicious snarl. “What are you doing?”

“Hiding you,” Charles informed him. “I’m going to run up to the castle and fetch a disguise for you. Then we’ll sneak you in.”

“Into the _castle?”_

“There’s nowhere else to hide you, and unless you’re about to tell me you’ll be healed in the next couple of hours, you’ll be lying out here in the middle of nowhere, wounded. Anyone could stumble across you, and I guarantee you that most people won’t be as helpful as I’ve been.”

The dragon stared at him for a long moment, eyes narrowed distrustfully. Finally, he growled, “Fine.”

Charles heaped another handful of reeds over him and stood. “I’ll be back soon.”

Shoving on his boots, he sprinted up the slope back up to the castle. At the side gate, he blurred the minds of the guards standing there so that they wouldn’t remember him passing by and hurried down the back corridors to his rooms. Thankfully, Logan was nowhere to be found. No doubt he was at dinner, or engaging in some late evening training with his men. The captain of his guard was a good man, but he’d sooner drive his sword through the dragon’s heart than help it.

In his chambers, Charles stripped out of his wet clothes, climbed into warm, dry ones, and wrapped a thick cloak around himself. Then, grabbing another cloak, he slipped back out of the castle and ran headlong down the slope to the lake, his heart pounding.

Part of him was convinced the dragon would be gone by the time he returned. But no, there he was, half-buried in reeds. He was probably too weak to run even if he’d wanted to.

“Here,” Charles said, pulling the reeds away from his body. “I brought a cloak. I hope your wings will fit under it.”

“You came back,” the dragon said, staring at Charles as if _Charles_ were the strange one. “Alone.”

“What, did you expect me to bring a hunting party back to murder you?” Charles saw in his eyes that that _was_ what the dragon had expected, and flushed. “Oh.”

The dragon glanced away. “A cloak, you said?”

“Yes, here. Can you sit up?”

Between the two of them, they managed to get the dragon upright and mostly covered with the cloak. The hood just barely fit over the dragon’s horns and he looked quite odd with the shape that his wings made underneath the cloak, but at least his appearance no longer screamed _dragon_.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” the dragon asked through gritted teeth, leaning heavily on Charles.

“No,” Charles replied, “but we’re going to try it anyway. Keep your head down and follow my lead.”

They made their way up the slope and around the castle wall to the side gate. It was slow going, the dragon obviously in pain and weak, and Charles struggling to support his weight. But they made it, and once they were there, Charles blurred the guards’ minds again. They didn’t even blink as Charles and the dragon passed.

Incredibly, they made it all the way to his chambers without incident. Once the door was shut behind them, Charles released an explosive breath, legs going weak with relief. For a moment, he leaned against the door to catch his breath. Then, realizing the dragon was sagging toward unconsciousness in his arms, he shuffled them over to his bedchamber, threw back the covers with his free hand, and eased the dragon down onto his bed.

Now what?

Heat, he thought. Dragons liked heat, didn’t they? It could help.

He stirred the red ashes in the hearth with the poker, urging the sparks back to life. After a couple of minutes, he had the fire crackling again, snapping hungrily at the log he slid in through the grate. When he glanced back at the bed, the dragon had his eyes open and was watching him.

“What else can I get you?” Charles asked, rising. “Water?” Did dragons even drink water? “Fresh clothes? You must be cold. And I should get you proper bandages. That cloak’s not going to hold for long, and besides, it’s filthy.”

The dragon continued to gaze at him, his eyes inscrutable. After a moment, he asked, “Why are you doing this?”

“Because…” Charles hesitated. He didn’t have a clear answer himself. Why had he jumped into the lake? Why had he saved the dragon even after he’d seen what he was? Why had he brought him back here?

“Because I couldn’t watch you die,” Charles said finally. That felt like the most honest answer he had.

The dragon stayed silent for another long minute. Then he said, “Your name. What is it?”

Was there any harm in telling him? Charles couldn’t see any. “I’m Charles.”

“I will remember it.”

Charles couldn’t tell if that was a threat or not. Crossing the room, he picked up the pitched of water on the table in the corner, poured a glass, and came over to sit on the bed beside the dragon. “What’s your name then?”

“You can call me Erik.”

“Erik. All right. Can you drink? Will that help?”

Erik pushed himself up onto one elbow with a wince. Charles looped an arm around his back and helped him sit up, then gave him the glass.

Once he was done, Erik handed the glass back. When Charles started to stand though, Erik caught his arm. “You should get this looked at.”

Charles glanced down at his arm and was startled to see blood there. There were three deep gouges in his forearm from when Erik had grabbed him in the water. He’d been so caught up in trying to keep Erik alive and hidden that he hadn’t even noticed.

“Oh.” Charles tugged out of Erik’s grip, set the glass down on the table, and went over to the basin that he usually used to wash his face in the mornings. Taking a washcloth, he wet it and washed away the blood on his arm, biting his lip as pain shot all the way out to his fingers. He might have to get this looked at by a physician later. He could always say he’d been scratched by a cat. A particularly vicious cat.

Wrapping his arm in a clean, dry washcloth, he tied it off clumsily, then tightened it with his teeth. There. That would have to do for now.

“I should go to dinner,” he said after a moment. “My stepfather will ask questions if I don’t show my face for at least a little while. I’ll bring you something if you’re hungry.”

Erik nodded slowly.

“All right.” Charles hesitated a moment, then added, “Please don’t leave my rooms. I can’t guarantee your safety if you do. No one’s allowed in here without my permission. You’ll be safe here.”

Erik’s pale eyes tracked him as he walked to the door. “I will stay.”

He probably wasn’t strong enough to get very far anyway if he tried to flee. Charles wondered how long it would take him to recover from his wound. How long would he have to hide a dragon in his chambers?

“I’ll be back,” he promised. Then he slipped out.

 

*

 

When Erik woke, the chamber was mostly dark. The fire had died down to smoldering ashes, but it was still enough light for Erik to see the boy curled up beside the hearth, sleeping quietly.

Erik hadn’t heard him come back from dinner. Was he sleeping down there because he hadn’t wanted to disturb Erik? Or because he didn’t trust Erik not to harm him in his sleep?

_At least you have seem to have **some** instinct for self-preservation, _ Erik thought. Saving Erik in the first place, bringing him back here, keeping him hidden in his own chambers and helping him—what was the boy _thinking?_

Humans. Such irrational creatures.

Slowly, stiffly, he sat up. He could feel the poison fading from his system, could feel his strength returning gradually. The wound would heal soon enough; it was the poison that would take longer to recover from.

Stupid. He should have seen those archers. He should have sensed them at least. They were growing smarter, using solid wooden arrows. They knew he couldn’t deflect those.

He glanced over at the boy again. Charles. It would be easy to kill him. Erik could be on him in seconds. He could snap his neck before Charles even had time to cry out. It would strike a severe blow at Shaw’s war effort. Without a prince to marry, he would have no alliance, no Westcastrian reinforcements to rely on.

_You killed my family, Shaw,_ Erik thought darkly. _Shall I kill your prince?_

Thoughts though, they were only thoughts. Idle speculation. He could not kill the prince, not after the boy had saved him. He owed Charles a life debt now, and such things could not be erased lightly.

On the ground, Charles stirred. Then, abruptly, he sat up.

“You’re still here,” he breathed when his eyes landed on Erik.

“Where would I go?” Erik asked.

“I don’t know. I just thought…” He got to his feet and came over, his expression hesitant. “How are you…are you in pain?”

Erik shook his head. “I’ll be healed soon enough. Another day or two.” The poison would take longer to work its way out of his system, but the wound itself would be closed at least.

“Oh. All right.” Then Charles’s eyes fell to Erik’s shirt, to the insignia on Erik’s chest, and Erik practically felt his shock reverberate throughout the room. “Wait. That can’t be—” Eyes as round as dinnerplates, he took a couple of shallow breaths. “That crest—I’ve seen it before, in books. Only the Dragon King wears it.”

Erik met his eyes steadily.

Charles paled. “You’re the Dragon King?”

“Are you afraid?” Erik asked. He kept his voice casual, though he was prepared to spring out of bed and pounce on him if Charles so much as tried to scream.

“I…yes,” Charles breathed. Erik appreciated his honesty. “But,” he continued after a moment, “that doesn’t mean I’ll…I’ll have you bound and tortured or anything.”

“Why not? My corpse would make a very welcome dowry to your future husband.”

Charles’s eyes widened even further. “What?”

“You must know Sebastian Shaw has wanted my head on a pike for years,” Erik said coolly. “You’re to marry him soon, aren’t you?”

“You know that I’m—you know I’m the prince?” Charles looked staggered.

Erik snorted. “Who else would have private chambers like these? With decorations in royal purple?”

Charles’s eyes flew to the purple sheets on his bed, to the purple trimmings around his bedchamber. Swallowing, he said, “You know more about our culture than I thought you would.”

“I’ve been at war with humans for longer than you’ve been alive. I’ve learned enough.”

Charles was silent for several moments. Then, slowly, he said, “If you know I’m to marry Shaw, then you must know why.”

“He wants Westchester’s men and its resources. He wants you committed to the war.”

“Yes.”

Something about the way he breathed the word—hushed, resigned—made Erik cock his head. “And what do _you_ want?”  

Charles seemed astonished by the question. “What? What does it matter what I want?”

So he was a passive agent in this alliance, a mere pawn on the board. How did he feel about being married to a man over twice his age? Erik wondered. A man with a reputation for violence, cruelty, and savagery?

“Humor me,” Erik said.

Charles considered the question for a minute. Then, softly, he said, “I want peace.”

For some reason, Erik hadn’t expected that. When he blinked at Charles in surprise, the prince continued. “I don’t want Shaw to drag Westchester into this war. It’s bloody, wasteful, and unnecessary.”

“Unnecessary?”

“I may be young,” Charles said, “but I’ve studied it. You and Shaw have been at war for years. The casualties on both sides have been horrific. And for what? A little bit of land gained and lost on both sides?”

Erik laughed, a sharp, ugly sound. “You think I fight for land? You think I care at all about that?”

Charles frowned. “Then what do you fight for?”

“I fight to kill Shaw,” Erik growled. Anger flashed through him, sharp and hot and intimately familiar. It was that flame that had carried him through all these years. “He killed my family. I will not stop until I have avenged them.”

“Oh. I’m…I’m so sorry.”

Erik shot a puzzled, narrow-eyed look at him. “For what? You didn’t wield the blade that slew them.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Charles said. After a moment, he reached out and hesitantly laid his hand over Erik’s. “It must have been difficult.”

Erik stared down at his hand, startled. He had never been touched by a human like this before. Never with…gentleness, out of a desire to comfort.

When Erik said nothing, Charles removed his hand awkwardly. “So,” he said, “it’s Shaw you want. Nothing else?”

“Nothing else,” Erik confirmed. He resisted the urge to flex his hand, wanting both to remember and to throw off the sensation of Charles’s touch.

“Then if Shaw were dead,” Charles continued slowly, “you would end the war?”

“I doubt it will be as simple as that.” Decades of war had inflicted wounds on both sides far too deep to heal easily, or quickly. Even after Shaw was dead, Erik doubted the Genoshans would cease their crusade against him, and if they continued to fight him, he would defend himself. “But,” he added after a pause, “it would be a start.”

Charles nodded, as if he were actually considering Erik’s reply. And evidently he _was_ , because then he said, “I’ll help you.”

Erik stared at him in blank shock.

The prince nodded again, resolve hardening on his face. He paced to the door and back, a thoughtful furrow appearing between his brows. “I’ll help you. Or rather, I think we could help each other. You want Shaw, and I want—” He grimaced. “I know what kind of man he is. I know both our countries would be better off if he were gone. He’s dragged Genosha into far too many conflicts to satisfy his pride and his greed, and too often, Westchester has suffered the consequences of his actions. He’s a tyrant, plain and simple. He needs to be brought to justice.”

Erik studied him closely. “You speak of what your people might gain with Shaw gone, but you? What do you want?”  

“Does that matter?”

“I want to know your heart,” Erik said. That was what mattered—not grand aspirations about peace and justice, but what one wanted in one’s heart. That was what drove a dragon, and a man. That was what could be trusted.

Charles hesitated. When he spoke again, his voice was soft. “I want…I want to make my own decisions. I want to decide my own fate. Nearly all my life I’ve been under my stepfather’s thumb. He’s the Regent, and he will be until I’m twenty-one. He’s controlled every aspect of my life since I was a boy. The alliance with Shaw, this marriage—it was his idea. I would never have chosen that for myself.” He looked at Erik, a youthful fierceness in his eyes. “I want to be free of him. That’s what I want.”

He meant every word. Erik could hear the truth in his voice.

“Then I believe we may be able to help each other,” Erik said. “If you’re willing to do what must be done.”

Charles lifted his chin. “I’ll do whatever it takes to end Shaw, and the war.”

There was no uncertainty in him—Erik saw his determination. The prince would make an extremely valuable ally indeed. He might be young and innocent and perhaps entirely too kind, but he could be the key to victory at last. Erik’s heart swelled with anticipation and with cautious, hungry hope. “Then it appears we’re in agreement.”

“Yes,” Charles said, his eyes filled with fire, “we are.”  


End file.
